Semper Fidelis
by time-converges
Summary: Donna and the Doctor find themselves somewhere they least expect, in the summer of 1918. Based on historical events
1. Chapter 1

The TARDIS door creaks as the Doctor pushes it open slowly, and Donna follows him out into the dimness outside.

"Alright spaceman, what have you done this time?" Donna asks as she takes in their surroundings. The room is small, cramped, with a low ceiling. The walls are smooth metal, curving around them. A ship, she thinks, but what kind? The floor dips under them slightly and she has her answer. The air smells damp and a bit like mildew. "How did you land us on a ship?"

He shakes his head. "Must have transposed a calculation or something," he says as he steps out into the room.

Donna looks up at the pipes and cables running overhead, and at the boxes stacked up haphazardly around them. "Are we in a storage cupboard?"

"Could be," he replies as he raps experimentally on one of the crates. Donna moves to stand next to him as he reads from the crate. "City of Exeter. Hmmm." He furrows his brow, and Donna can feel him trying to recall the name.

"Is that the ship's name?"

"Probably. There's been more than one by that name, so it's not terribly helpful I'm afraid, but it's a start." He continues moving around the cramped room, studying the labels on the crates. "The question is which one, and when," he says absently.

Donna shivers in the chilly air and wraps her arms around herself. The ship creaks around them, and the floor dips again slightly, just enough to remind her they are on the water somewhere. Somewhen, she adds to herself. She wrinkles her nose at the musty smell.

"City of Exeter," he mumbles to himself again, and he finally stops and looks up at her. "Perhaps we should just go out and see who's here, what do you think?"

She nods, suppressing a feeling of foreboding. It was never good when they landed somewhere they hadn't planned. They were supposed to be meeting Amelia Earhart, and instead they were here, in this dank ship, who knew where. He looks at her, concerned, and she smiles at him, but even she can tell how false the smile must look. "At least it's not the Titanic, right?"

He laughs shortly. "It's a start." He opens the hatch and steps out into the narrow corridor, gesturing for her to follow after he looks up and down. She steps through after him, taking his offered hand. "Which way, d'you think?" he asks.

She shrugs, and looks up and down the corridor. Both directions look equally mysterious to her, so she points to the right. "That way?"

They've taken only a few steps when one of the other hatches opens, revealing a sailor. He looks distracted, and does a double-take when he sees them. "Who are you?" he asks, then he quickly corrects himself, straightening his back. "Identify yourselves," he says, his tone commanding although Donna can hear his voice is tired.

She looks up at the Doctor, wondering how on earth he would explain their sudden appearance on a ship, by all appearances in the middle of an ocean. His grip tightens on her hand, revealing his tension, but his voice is light. "Oh, I'm the Doctor, and this is Donna." He fumbles in his pockets with his free hand, finally extracting the psychic paper, to Donna's relief. "Special assignment." He holds out the paper toward the sailor, who approaches slowly, suspicion evident on his face. He studies the paper for a moment, then quickly snaps to attention, saluting the Doctor.

"My apologies, sir, I did not know you were aboard."

The Doctor shakes his head. "No salutes, please," he says tiredly. "Now, why don't you tell me your name."

"Midshipman Wilson, sir. The Captain did not tell us you were aboard," he repeats, looking from the Doctor to Donna apologetically.

"Well, it was a secret, wasn't it?" the Doctor replies breezily. "But now it's not, so let's start simple, shall we? You can call me the Doctor, and this is my...assistant, Donna."

She squeezes his hand when he calls her his assistant, but she smiles at Wilson, wondering what the psychic paper had told him about them.

"Yes sir, can't be too careful these days. If you'll allow me, I'll take you to the Captain."

"Very well," the Doctor says, as the young sailor turns on his heels and goes back the way he came. Donna glances up at the Doctor as they follow.

"Who does he think we are?" she asks in a low voice.

"I'm not exactly sure."

"Brilliant."

They follow Wilson on a twisty path through the ship, climbing through hatches and ducking through corridors until they finally stop in front of another hatch, which Wilson raps on sharply, the sound ringing out, sharp and metallic. A muffled voice from inside calls out "Enter!" and Wilson opens the door, stepping aside for the Doctor and Donna to step through first. Wilson follows and snaps to attention again, saluting the man behind the small desk, who stands when he sees the Doctor and Donna.

"The Doctor and Donna, sir. The civilians on special assignment."

The Doctor quickly pulls out the psychic paper again, holding it out for the captain to inspect. He studies the paper then nods. "Very well. I'm glad to have you aboard. As you know, we have an emergency, and we could certainly use a doctor."

"Oh, well, I'm not—" the Doctor begins, then stops himself. "Emergency?"

"Yes, that's why command sent you, isn't it? Your papers—"

"Oh yes, yes of course. I just wanted to hear directly from you what the situation is. You know how reports get garbled."

The captain sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Of course." He sits back down in his chair. "Half the crew is down with –I don't know what. You're the expert, you'll have to tell me for sure. It's like nothing else I've seen, I'll tell you that."

"I see," the Doctor says, his tone carefully neutral. "Might I ask – in the journey, I've lost track of the days. What is the date?"

The captain looks up at him, surprised. "June 10."

But what year? Donna wonders desperately, knowing she can't ask that without giving the game away. "Do you have a calendar?" she asks, on impulse.

The captain looks at her, as if seeing her for the first time. She feels his eyes travel over her, and she knows the Doctor notices too because he steps closer to her. The captain sees this, and nods slightly. "I see. Yes, I have a calendar, ma'am." He flips through the papers on his desk, extracting a small book and handing it to her.

She opens it to June, tilting it slightly toward the Doctor so he can also see the year at the top of the page. She hears his sharp intake of breath as he reads "1918" with her.

"We're due into the port of Philadelphia any day now, to transport troops as you know. Now there's talk of quarantining us, to prevent the spread of the illness. These men need a hospital, and we need to finish our mission."

Donna hands the calendar back to him, and the Doctor nods. "I see. Yes, well, why don't you take me to the patients then? And then we can see what we shall see."

"Very well," the captain says. "Wilson, show them the patients. Start with the sickest ones."

"Aye sir," Wilson responds with a salute, before turning smartly toward the door again.

"I'll await your report, Doctor," the captain says, before returning to the papers on his desk.

Donna looks at the Doctor, her eyebrows raised. He just shakes his head slightly at her, before following Wilson from the room. As they leave, she sees a plaque above the door, reading "Semper Fidelis."

***

Wilson leads them through the maze of corridors, finally stopping before yet another hatch that looks identical to all the others. "We have all of the worst cases in here. We ran out of room in the sickbay, so we're just using the regular quarters, but we've kept the worst cases together. You'll see why," he adds darkly, as he works the hatch and steps aside to let them walk in.

Donna flinches at the smell that comes from the room: sweat and sickness overpowering the musty smell that she had already become accustomed to. The Doctor steps in front of her as he moves to one of the hammocks and bends over the crewman lying in it. She steps to his side, peering over his shoulder, afraid of what she'll see.

The man's eyes are closed, and his lips are tinged a dusky blue. If he weren't moving restlessly, fingers grasping at the edges of the hammock, she would have thought he was already dead. His breath is rattling in his chest, and a bloody froth is seeping from his nose and the corners of his mouth. He coughs weakly, the sound a terrible rasping sound. Before Donna can take in more, the Doctor's hands are on her, shoving her back out into the corridor.

"What—" Donna says as he moves her further down the corridor, out of Wilson's earshot.

"We have to leave, right now," he says, his hands propelling her forward. She resists, turning toward him.

"Why? What is it?"

"It's influenza. The Spanish Flu. They all have it, and we have to leave before—"

"I'm not leaving them like this." She shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest. "Not without a better reason that because they're ill with the flu."

"It's not just the flu, it's one of the worst pandemics in human history. The pneumonia is filling their lungs with blood and they're suffocating. There's nothing we can do to stop it. And we need to leave, now."

"Hang on, slow down, spaceman. You heard the captain - they need to get to hospital. Whatever the psychic paper told him about us, maybe we have the power to make that happen sooner."

The Doctor shakes his head and glances back at Wilson, who is watching them curiously. "No, that's the thing. They need to go into quarantine, or we risk the whole city of Philadelphia."

"But you saw them – they're dying in there. They need a proper hospital, not this dank old ship. We can help them—"

"That's the thing, Donna, we can't. The City of Exeter, this ship, is supposed to be in quarantine, then will pull into port with most of the crew ill or dying. They're taken to hospital then, but it'll be too late for most of them. However, it will also be too late for them to spread the illness any more than they have already. If we have them in port sooner, the illness could spread throughout the city, much sooner than it should. It would be devastating."

Donna's stomach turns over. Just like Pompeii, she thinks. Another fixed point. She looks back down toward the room, then back at the Doctor. "How long are they in quarantine?"

"I'm not sure. A few days at least, maybe longer."

"What about the TARDIS – you must have a cure—" She knows his answer, but she has to ask anyway.

"Donna, you know—"

She cuts him off. "I know, I know. We can't. We can make them comfortable, can't we? If most of them become ill, they must need someone to look after them. We could do that at least, until the quarantine is over."

"It's too dangerous. You won't have any immunity."

She shrugs. "I never get sick."

"Donna." He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Please."

"You know me by now. We're staying."

He tightens his grip, but doesn't argue with her. "Alright. But wear a mask, all the time. I'll find some for you. And wash your hands as often as you can."

"I suppose Time Lords are immune to the common flu?"

He lets his hands drop from her shoulders. "Different biology, so yes. So let me take care of the sickest patients, alright?"

"You worry too much," she says lightly, taking hold of his hand and giving it a squeeze. "I'll be fine. Now, let's start with some cleaning, yeah? This place smells like a sewer."


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

"There we are, drink that and you'll feel better," Donna says, helping the young sailor sit up enough to drink the broth from the bowl she holds. He manages a few swallows before he starts coughing and she quickly sets the bowl down and settles him against the pillow again. This room has the sailors with the mildest symptoms, the ones who seem to only have the ordinary flu. Which doesn't mean they aren't suffering – she knows their muscles ache and they are tired from coughing, and their fevers have yet to break despite the aspirin she's forcing on them every few hours. She moves to the next hammock, picking up another bowl from the tray she brought in and offering it to her next patient. Just as she's settling him back against his pillow, the door to the room opens again.

"Everything alright in here?" the Doctor asks, stepping through and moving quickly to help her with the bowls.

"We're fine in here." She resists the urge to touch the face mask she's wearing, although it itches her nose and makes her feel a little claustrophobic. The Doctor's brown eyes regard her solemnly over his own mask, which she insisted he wear despite his assurances that he wouldn't get sick. He's humouring her, she knows, but she's still glad of it. "Hopefully they can keep the soup down," she continues, lacing her fingers behind her back and stretching her shoulders. They feel cramped, as though she's unconsciously hunching them against the low ceilings and tiny rooms.

"Yeah," the Doctor agrees, and his gaze moves from one patient to the next, quickly.

"How are the others?"

He sighs and bends to pick up the tray with the half-empty bowls. He jerks his head toward the door, and Donna follows him into the corridor and back to the galley, where he stacks the bowl in the sink. More dishes, she thinks tiredly, as they wash their hands in silence. She leans back against the bench, feeling the ache in her legs from the long day. The Doctor moves to stand in front of her, reaching back to remove his mask. He reaches to untie hers and removes it, discarding them both as she smiles wearily at him.

"How are the others?" she asks again, fearful of the answer.

"Two more are very ill, and I don't know whether they'll make it through the night," he replies, after a long pause. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it in hers. There are dark circles under his eyes, and she suspects she doesn't look much better. "You should get some rest," he says, as if reading her mind. He cups her cheek and swipes his thumb over her cheekbone, and she leans into his touch.

"There's still too much to be done."

"You need to rest. We still have a few days before we can put into port."

"I know. It's just—" She looks away for a moment, then back at him. "They're so young, so far from home. I hate to think of them alone in those tiny cabins."

He pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her waist, rests his chin on her head. "I know. But you won't do them any good if you're exhausted. Just rest for a few hours."

She sighs and leans against him for a moment, before pushing back. "I have to give out another round of aspirin. Then I'll rest." She steps back and picks up the tray with the aspirin and water pitcher.

"Alright. I'll find us something to eat. And tell the others to come eat something, too. Few enough of them are well enough to help us, we don't want them collapsing from exhaustion either."

"I'll send them in," she says.

"Don't forget your mask," he says before she can step through the hatch. He pulls a fresh mask from the pile and reaches to tie it around her face. "There we are." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Beautiful."

She shakes her head. "Daft man."

***

Several hours later, she sits at the bedside of one of the crew. Stevens, she thinks, if she remembers rightly. He's looking up at her, his eyes bright with fever, just the slightest tinge of blue around his lips. His cheeks are a distressingly dark shade of red, and the aspirin seems to not be helping him at all. His breathing is laboured, and she holds his hand gently.

"Am I going to die, Miss?" he asks, his voice a raspy whisper.

"Of course not," she says confidently. "We're going to get you to a proper hospital very soon, and they'll set you right soon enough. You've just got to stay strong and rest until then."

"Thank you for staying with me."

"Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head weakly. "No." A coughing spell overtakes him, and she reaches for the cloth and wipes his face. "Thank you."

She turns at the sound of the hatch opening, and sees the Doctor step through. "There you are," he says quietly.

"Mr Stevens here was telling me about his family," Donna says. "His parents are in Derbyshire, and one of his brothers is at the front."

"Is that so," the Doctor replies, pulling up the other small chair in the room and sitting next to Donna. "you must be very proud."

"Yes sir," Stevens says.

"What does your mum do for you when you're ill?" Donna asks gently. He looks so young, hardly old enough to be in the navy.

"She'd make soup, and read to me."

"That sounds nice," Donna replies. "Perhaps later I can come back and read to you, would you like that?"

"Yes miss, that would be terrific, if it's no bother."

"No trouble at all, I'll be back later, alright?" She pats his hand and places it back on top of the blankets covering him, before standing. The Doctor stands with her, following her out into the corridor.

"You promised to rest," he says once the hatch door is closed.

"Did I?" she says absently, her mind still on young Stevens, so ill and missing his mother.

"You did, and now you're coming with me to eat some dinner and then sleep." She opens her mouth to argue, but it turns into a yawn. "See, no arguing." He loops her arm through his as they walk back to the galley.

***

Donna obediently eats the soup and bread the Doctor sets in front of her. He sits across from her, eating bread and jam as he watches her eat.

"When we first arrived, you said there was more than one ship called the City of Exeter. Which one were you hoping it was?"

He chuckles and pushes his plate away from him. "Well, hoping is probably not quite the right word. Still, I wasn't expecting this."

"What were you expecting then?"

"My first guess was about 3 years ago, relative time, when this ship heard the distress call of the Lusitania."

She gasps. "They saw it sink?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Oh. And I joked about the Titanic." She takes a few more bites, still not really tasting the food. "I'm not sure this is better."

"Nor am I," he replies wryly.

"Would you really have left?"

He presses his hands to the table, then nods. "Yes. It's too dangerous. I still think we should go."

"You can't protect me all the time."

"Perhaps not, but I can try. We aren't changing the timeline by being here."

"Maybe we are. Maybe Mr Stevens in there will have an easier time of it, whatever happens to him."

He looks at her for a long moment, and she feels herself flush under his gaze. She looks down at her soup, rapidly cooling in the bowl. "You might be right," he says finally, standing and clearing the dishes from the table. "Now, let's get you some sleep."

"I think I'm too tired to sleep," she says as she lets him lead her to one of the empty cabins, one with a proper bed in it.

"Nonsense," he says gently, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of her to slip off her shoes. She shrugs out of her cardigan and stretches out on the cot as he lifts her legs onto the bed.

She sighs and closes her eyes, then opens them again. "Stay with me?" she says, reaching for his hand.

His fingers close over hers, and he nods. "Of course."

She slides over to make room for him to stretch out beside her, and he wraps his arms around her, letting her nestle against him. She sighs as she lets herself relax.

"Thank you. For staying."

He doesn't answer, just draws her closer against him as she drifts to sleep.

***

Two days later she's standing over the sink in the galley, washing what feels like the millionth bowl, when he finds her. She knows before he speaks that he has bad news for her, and she refuses to turn around.

"Donna."

She doesn't answer, just rinses the bowl and sets it on the sideboard to drain. She hears him approach and feels his hands on her shoulders.

"Donna," he says again softly, and his voice is so sad that tears start in her eyes before she turns around. She dries her hands on the towel and turns in his embrace.

"Who is it this time?" she asks, her voice sounding foreign, distant.

"Stevens," he says, and his voice breaks a little.

"No," she whispers, and before she can stop herself she sobbing, her face against his chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispers into her hair, and she can hear his grief even through her own.

He holds her for a long moment, until she can get herself under control. She finally straightens, swiping the tears from her eyes. "What are we supposed to do? We don't have enough of anything – aspirin, blankets, masks, nothing. I'm not even a nurse!" her voice breaks, and she takes a deep breath.

"We're doing the best we can, better than that even. There are still some boys alive, who will make it to the hospital when we dock tomorrow." He rubs her arms soothingly, but she shrugs him off.

"No, we should do more. There must be something—"

"Donna."

She pounds her hands against the sink in frustration. "Why? I don't understand!"

"No one does," he says, and this time she allows him to put his arms around her again. She leans against him for another moment, then straightens again.

"I should finish these dishes," she says, turning back to the sink tiredly.

"Let me. Why don't you sit down and eat something, before the next round of aspirin doses."

"I'm not hungry," she says, and she isn't. She's too tired to eat, too tired to think. But she does sit, and lets him put some bread and tea in front of her. "We are helping, aren't we?" she says finally, looking up at him. Tears prickle in her eyes again.

"Donna, you have done so much. They'll never forget you, I promise you that."

***

She watches as they load the last of the crew into the ambulances that were awaiting them at the dock, the drivers masked and silent as they took the men away to hospital.

"We should go with them," she says, turning to the Doctor.

"No, they'll be fine in hospital. One of the best doctors will be waiting for them, and they'll get the best care. We can go now."

She turns again and watches the last ambulance leave. She feels dizzy and hot, and her chest is tight. How strange, she thinks, as the world begins to spin around her. "Doctor—" she manages, reaching blindly for him. She feels his hands on her as she collapses to the ground and everything goes dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Donna dreams she's drowning, the water closing over her head. She tries to swim, but her arms refuse to move, instead they hang limply at her side as she sinks further and further under. The light above fades, but then brightens, and she hears someone calling her name.

"Donna, you have to fight. You're stronger than this, I know it. Stay with me, I'm right here."

She tries to swim, to kick her way to the surface, but her legs also refuse to move, and darkness closes over her again.

***

She dreams of a forest, of someone chasing her in the shadows, and her legs won't move fast enough. She can't catch her breath as she turns to look back over her shoulder.

"Please, Donna, you can do this," someone calls to her, and she tries to run toward that voice, but she falls. Panic wells up inside her – she'll be caught! She has to run! But she can't make herself stand up again. The shadows close over her.

***

She dreams she's trapped in a tiny metal room, with death all around her. Voices call out for help from the shadows, but she can't look at them, she knows she'll see corpses and skeletons, nothing living. She pounds on the door, shouting for someone, anyone to let her out into the air. Just as she's about to give up, to give in to the darkness, the door opens, and the Doctor appears. "I've been looking for you," he says, holding out his hand to her.

Donna fights her way back to consciousness and struggles to open her eyes, although her eyelids feel as though they have weights on them. She finally succeeds, opening her eyes, then blinking against the brightness of the room. Her chest aches, and it burns as she takes in a breath. "Where am I?" she says, only her voice comes out as a weak whisper. She hears footsteps, then someone takes her hand.

"You're safe, you're on the TARDIS," the Doctor says, sitting carefully on the bed beside her and brushing her hair from her forehead.

"I was dreaming," she says, fighting to keep her eyes open, afraid if she blinks that he'll disappear. "You were looking for me."

"I found you," he says softly. "How are you feeling?" She sees him glance at the monitors next to the bed.

"My chest hurts."

"That's the pneumonia. I think the worst is over. The antivirals seem to have worked. I took you off the oxygen this morning, but if you want I can connect it again."

She shakes her head weakly. "Not right now." She lifts her arm carefully and looks at the IV that is running into her hand. "What happened?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Well, it seems you, Donna Noble, had the Spanish Flu."

"I wore the masks, all the time. I did everything you said."

"I know you did," he says gently, cupping her face with his hand. "It wasn't enough. After you collapsed, I brought you here, to the TARDIS."

"Why not the hospital?"

"You think I would take you to some turn-of-the-century hospital, without proper facilities?" He laughs humorlessly. "Not when the TARDIS was right there, with a full medical bay."

"Not changing the timeline, are we?" she chides gently.

"No, you were out of your own time – taking you to the hospital would have been much worse. You were contagious, for one thing, and might have caused a wider spread of the disease. You were much safer here." He pours her a glass of water and offers it to her, supporting her as she takes a few sips. "And before you ask, I only used medicine available in your time, so no paradoxes there, either. Aside from you catching the flu in the first place, of course." He avoids her gaze, and she suspects he's not telling the whole truth, but she doesn't press the issue.

"Did you call Martha?"

"Yes, she wanted to come of course, but I told her it was too dangerous. She's been monitoring you though, and she'll stop by to see you in a few days, make sure I did the job right."

"Thank you. For taking care of me," she says.

"It's my fault, I should have insisted we leave. I knew it was too dangerous."

"Don't, please," she says, squeezing his hand with as much strength as she can find. "It's my fault."

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter now. Right now, you should sleep, and then later on we'll get you out of this bed, alright?"

She nods, exhaustion already overwhelming her again. She stops fighting it, and lets her eyes drift closed. She sleeps, dreamlessly.

***

She wakes up coughing, struggling for breath, and the Doctor is there immediately to support her. When she finally catches her breath, after a seemingly endless time, she leans against him.

"How are you feeling?"

"A bit better, I think," she says, but she knows her voice sounds weak.

"Are you hungry?"

She considers for a moment, then says, "Yes, I think I am."

"I'll get you something light, won't be a moment," he replies, easing her back down onto the pillows. She looks at her hand and sees the IV had been removed, leaving only a bit of gauze taped to her hand as evidence it was there. It itches a little, but she resists the urge to scratch it.

He returns with a tray holding soup and a sandwich, and some tea, which she drinks greedily, to his apparent amusement. "Better?" he asks, and she nods, reaching for the sandwich.

After she eats, he helps her to the tiny bathroom near the sickbay, then to the library, where he gets her settled on the sofa. He sits next to her and watches her for a long moment.

"What is it?" she asks, finally, when he doesn't speak.

"Nothing – I'm just glad to see you out of that bed."

"No more than I am," she says lightly. She leans her head back against the cushions and closes her eyes. "I heard you, in my dreams."

She feels him tense up, then relax. "Did you? What did I say?"

"Oh, the usual rambling," she teases, opening one eye to look at him. He's not smiling, so she continues. "I heard you calling for me to be strong."

He shifts uncomfortably, then says, "Yes. I was talking to you while you were ill. I—" he stops, then turns to her, taking her hand. "I thought I was going to lose you, despite all the medicine and everything else. I was afraid."

She squeezes his hand. "I was strong, because of you."

"Not because of me."

"I'm sorry I worried you." She sits up and shifts so she can lean against his shoulder.

He puts his arm around her shoulder and rests his head against hers. "I'm glad you weren't lost." He drops a kiss on the top of her head, and she sighs.

"Me too."

They sit in silence for long moments, until she breaks it finally. "Did they all die?"

"Who?" he asks, although she knows he knows who she means.

"The crew. Did they all die?"

"Not all," he replies carefully. "Some of them recovered."

"How many?"

"I don't know. A few."

"So we didn't change anything."

"We saved the city of Philadelphia from an earlier outbreak. You helped make the last days of those boys a little easier. Don't say we didn't change anything – you did. You made a difference."

"Not enough," she says tiredly, closing her eyes again.

He doesn't answer, and just draws her closer to him, rubbing her arm soothingly.

***

"That smells divine," she says from the doorway of the kitchen, and he turns from where he's stirring a pot over the stove.

"You shouldn't be up," he replies, as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

"I'm tired of sitting, and I'm starving. What else should I do?"

"Lunch is nearly ready. I thought you might like something other than soup for a change?"

"Definitely something other than soup, yes please."

"Roast chicken and potatoes sound good?"

She sighs happily. "Sounds perfect."

She watches as he finishes cooking, impressed again at his ability to actually cook. He beams at her after she takes a few bites and pronounces it delicious.

"I was thinking, since you're feeling so much better, we might take a little trip. There's something I want you to see."

"I think that sounds good," she replies. She's been feeling cooped-up lately, despite the size of the TARDIS. The only remaining evidence of her illness is a lingering cough, and tiredness that overcomes her by the afternoon, but even that is easing. "Where?"

"Ah, that's a surprise, but I think you'll like it. Do you trust me?"

"Always."

***

They leave the TARDIS hidden behind some hedges, and walk down the little road, past cozy little houses with tidy gardens. It's a lovely sunny day, although cold, and the Doctor fusses over Donna a little about whether her coat is warm enough.

"I'm fine, stop it," she says firmly. "You can't keep doing that."

"What?"

"Fussing over me. You'll drive me mad."

"Sorry," he says, chastened, as he takes her hand again.

"Now where are we?"

"Derbyshire, February 1919."

"And why are we here?"

He stops in front of one of the houses, and gestures at the house across the way. "That is the Stevens' home."

She gasps. "Not our Stevens?"

"Yes, it's his parent's house. And today, his brother is coming home." He nods at another figure approaching, with a rucksack over his back.

"He survived the war?"

"Yes, and his parents have been waiting for him to return. Today's the day."

The young man walks up the path to the house, and before he reaches the door it's flung open, revealing an older couple, beaming at him. They hurry out to meet him, embracing him.

"You see? His brother survived the war, and came home."

"Because of something we did?" she asks, confused.

He shakes his head. "No, just lucky, or clever, as far as I know. I just wanted you to see that not everyone dies."

No, some of us have to carry on, she thinks. The last son, or the last Time Lord. She watches as the family embraces their returning son, before they disappear into the small house. She slips her hand into his and they turn to walk back to the TARDIS. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Donna Noble, for reminding me."

"Reminding you what?"

"That people – individuals – are as important as timelines."

"You didn't need me to remind you of that," she says, waving her hand dismissively.

He stops and turns to her, taking her hands in his. "I do need you. What would I do without you?" He pulls her to him and kisses her, slow and gentle.

She pulls him closer, looping her arms around his waist, enjoying the feel of him. After long moments she pulls back, then slips her arm through his. "Let's hope you never have to find out."

**Historical Notes: The City of Exeter was a real ship, which docked in Philadelphia in June, 1918, after a brief quarantine. Most of the crew was taken directly to hospital, where many died. The quarantine protected the city, although unintentionally. They weren't yet quarantining ships for influenza, but by the time they reached port they were no longer contagious. If you're interested in reading more about the epidemic, I can recommend "The Great Influenza" by John M. Barry; it was my primary source of information. Thank you for reading!


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